


Atonement

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mentions of Peggy - Freeform, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: You and Steve were friends with benefits for years. Until, Sam and Bucky turn up at your bar and announce that Steve won't be coming back after returning the stones. He's going to make things work with Peggy.Steve returns years later to win you back only to discover one heck of a surprise.





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darksteverogersaddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=darksteverogersaddicted).



> This is a request from the beautiful darksteverogersaddicted for a Endgame fix-it. I really hope ya'll enjoy, I had a blast writing. 
> 
> Fair warning: this is angsty.

The bell on the door rings as the customer departs the store and you can finally breathe. The bridezilla had chewed your ear off for a good hour about the shade of pink she had chosen for her roses now didn’t match the pink of her invitations. Of course, they’d had to be specially imported from Chile and it is too late to change the order because she is getting married tomorrow.

This shit is getting old. You miss the hustle and bustle of working in a bar, the therapeutic nightly confessions of patrons. But working in a bar as a single parent was near impossible, and the memories of hours spent with Steve too raw.

You work good hours at the florist, your manager understands that weekends have to be spent with your daughter. With what little spare time you have to yourself, you drown yourself in volunteering to manage the store’s books and spreadsheets. You keep your mind and body occupied, drowning it deep so you will not be overwhelmed with the myriad of emotions you carry each and every second of the day.

You lose yourself in the next order on your list to complete that day. You love the simplicity of the floral arrangement. Sunflowers, baby’s breath, daisies. Cheerful, happy and warm. You imagine a beautiful big vase sitting on your kitchen table as you and Sarah enjoy pancakes, Bucky and Sam barging in as usual and helping themselves to the mountain of food.

You imagine how difficult life would be now if you did not have them in your life.

You skilfully wrap twining around the simple white tin vase, finishing off the beautiful vintage style. The bell of the door rings but you can’t afford to take your eyes off your work as you inspect the thickness of your wrapping meticulously.

“Sorry, I won’t be long,” you call out as you hear footsteps make their way across the hardwood floor of the old shop.

“I can wait.”

Had the scissors not been closed you would have sliced your hand open. Disbelief. A dream. You were imagining things. You dared to look up. Rage set in.

Before you stood Steve, a sheepish smile on his lips, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey?” you ask incredulously, carefully placing the scissors out of reach, lest you stab it through his perfectly buff chest. “Really? Five years, no goodbye and all you have to say is ‘hey’?” He looks away, bashful. You take a calming breath and blink away the tears.

God, your name sounds like heaven on his lips. “Please, let me explain. I made a mistake. I thought Peggy was the one for me, but it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your heart stops, but you think about Sarah. “Fuck you, Steve Rogers.” The scissors begin to look awfully tempting. “I gave you my heart on a fucking platter for years. I opened myself up to you and you left me. You sent your best friends to end things with me because you are a coward.”

He flounders, moving towards you slowly. “Please…”

“No. Fuck you. You can’t just waltz in here and expect me to fall at your knees like the obedient dog I used to be. My life doesn’t revolve around you. It can’t.”

“I was selfish.”

“You think? You used your friends. You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you what you were leaving behind.”

“I thought I was doing you a favour.”

You scoff angrily. “Oh sure,” the sarcasm drips off your tongue, “Thanks pal. You really did me a favour by leaving me pregnant with your child.”

*****

_It was a Rolling Stones kind of night. The bar was buzzing with the usual agents and law enforcement. They were demanding and impatient customers at best. Orders flew left, right and center. You were already mentally checking out and imagining how you would spend your Sunday off._

_Finally, a break in the crowd and Stephanie returning from her ten-turned-forty minute break, you make your way out to the alleyway, hands full of garbage bags. Seriously, if Stephanie hadn’t been fucking your boss, she would have been fired months ago._

_The cool, autumn evening is a refreshing relief from the hot bar. You hoist the heavy bags into the trash, the sound of bottles cracking through the air like thunder._

_Unlike Stephanie, who is a selfish bitch, you dare not leave your colleagues short-handed so you quickly make your way into the bar, disappointed to leave the respite of the cool air. You slowly make your way around the tables collecting empty glasses and quickly spy Stephanie making a break for it out the front door, your manager squeezing her cheeks as they call it a night._

_The crowd dies down around 1 a.m., and you encourage your frazzled friend to take an early mark, leaving you to man the bar by yourself. Truthfully, you welcome the break, your head still spinning from the noise and smell of cheap beer and cologne._

_A couple of local patrons remain behind as you make your way to the jukebox. This is your favourite time of the night. Lana Del Ray soulfully cleanses the air of tainted hard rock, as you return to the bar. A tall, well-built man enters the bar. He’s an Adonis. Your mouth runs dry as he removes his baseball cap and sits at the bar. His smile is shy and respectful._

_“What can I get you?” you finally find the words._

_“Beer.”_

_“What kind of beer?”_

_He chuckles. “Honestly? I don’t know. Last time I went out for a drink we only had a choice of bad and desperate.” Your brow furrows with confusion until it dawns on you. Of course. Fucking Captain America. “What would you recommend?”_

_You smile warmly. “How about we have a taster and see what tickles your fancy.”_

_The next time Steve ventured into your bar he came prepared with a list of beers he would like to try. He was curious and open to suggestions. The conversation you had was easy but reserved. There were obviously things you were not able to speak freely of._

_His visits to the bar were sporadic, but over time you found yourself looking forward to his company. Underneath his classic good looks, Steve was a gentleman. He was a little old fashioned, but as you grew to know each other better, his wicked sense of humour finally appeared._

_It was hard to deny the attraction. He was fucking perfect. America’s golden boy and slowly he was becoming your best friend. His flirtations were subtle, perhaps he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. But it gave you a rush._

_And then one blisteringly hot night, nearly a year into your friendship, he opened a can of worms._

_The aircon in the bar had fried in the heatwave. The poor souls who had braved the sweltering night had long gone, as had the kitchen staff and your fellow bar staff._

_Steve sat at the bar, nursing an icy bottle of beer. You wipe the beads of sweat from your forehead. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all night. Lost in deep thoughts, his face illustrating a story you could not follow._

_“I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to take my clothes off and take a dip in the Potomac.” Your words break his reverie, his smile forced. “It’s too hot for this shit. Let’s get out of here.” You lock the bar up, watching Steve lean against the building facade, his thoughts miles away. “I know you can’t talk about your work, but if you ever need to get stuff off your chest I've been told I’m a great listener.”_

_The first genuine smile that evening paints his lips. He invites you back to his place with the promise of a semi-decent beer and air conditioning. His apartment is neat and tidy, but there are few personal touches._

_Beer in hand, you join him on the couch. And like a tap being turned, he unleashes. He tells you of Peggy, the love of his life. He speaks of their brief but intense relationship during the war, before he sacrificed himself for his country, and how, now finally reunited, Alzheimer’s is slowly stealing time and memories from her._

_Words cannot comfort him, you have no cure to offer him. And so, you become his closest confidant. You share thoughts, feelings, secrets, dreams with each other. You open up about your previous relationships, your acrimonious relationship with your family._

_And then Steve met Sam and everything changed._

*****

You are not surprised to open your door to find Sam standing on the other side, his hands full of groceries.

“I’m not a charity case,” you grumble letting him in.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he said putting the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Where’s my princess?”

“Upstairs, giving Bucky a lesson in flower crowns,” you say with a smirk, handing Sam a beer.

Sam helps you put away the shopping despite your protests. It’s hard to be mad at him. He oversteps like nobody’s business, shows up unannounced and is a pure cock block. But, he loves your daughter more than anything in this world and has gone above and beyond to make sure you were both comfortable. Sam is Captain America to the bone.

You can feel his dark, warm eyes on your back as you prepare dinner. “How are you doing?”

You sigh, your heart heavy with Steve’s anniversary coming up. Five long fucking years, your walls built up, bringing up his child. Spending the Fourth of July blowing out birthday candles, telling Sarah how her father had sacrificed himself to help build a better world for her. Lies of course. He had decided that he wanted to spend his life with Peggy. Sarah's father would never know she existed or that she bore his mother’s name.

“I’m fine, Sam,” you say, your back to him to preserve any feeble quantum of modicum. It hurt to let Sam and Bucky in. All you saw was Steve. Good memories gnawing at your facade.

“I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say this, but you’re not in this alone. Buck and I are here for you, both of you. You can talk to us. You need to grieve, too.”

And they had been there for you. They were in the delivery room with you when you delivered Sarah; Bucky let you squeeze his hand until it was blue and Sam patiently encouraged you to push when it was all too much and you swore at him like a sailor. One or both would force their way into the house and demand you sleep when the colicky nights had become too much.

Your shoulders hunch with exhaustion, the meat sizzling in the pan, willing the tears to dry up. How is it possible to still get so emotional over him?

“You’re retreating.”

You scoff at Sam and shake your head. “I’m fine, Sam. I’d be better if you assholes would stop dropping by without any notice.”

Strong arms make their way around your waist. “You love it. Don’t lie.”

And you did. But it was exhausting hiding behind the facade of having your shit together when you didn’t. You cry each and every night cursing Steve Rogers for being a coward. A coward who never deserved the shield. Until, you beg him for forgiveness, distraught that he will never meet his own child. Of course, he will never hear. He will never know.

And of course, you cry for Sarah who will never have the privilege of meeting the man who helped give her life. The man you had utterly fallen for; heart, soul, and mind. And whilst Sam and Bucky are perfect additions to her life, she deserved to know Steve.

Sam has long gone as you make your way downstairs from putting Sarah to bed. Bucky is on the couch nosing his way through your magazine, taking particular interest in the article on ethical sex toys.

You join him on the couch and bask in the comfortable silence. Unlike his chocolate counterpart, Bucky gives you the space to reflect and digest in his presence, not spill your guts.

“You know you’re still wearing the flower crown right?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I look fabulous and I’m going to own this look.”

*****

_The first time Sam Wilson followed Steve Rogers into the bar you were up to your neck in orders. Your boss’ new flavour of the month, Rachel had decided to call in sick at the last nanosecond, leaving the bar dangerously short-staffed for the post-game night._

_You’ve barely had time to draw breath all night, let alone speak to Steve and his new friend. So, when the crowd finally dies down, your colleague Ben encouraged you to take a break._

_Steve introduced you to Sam Wilson, and you instantly fell for his charm. He was smart and witty, keeping you on your toes all night. You bonded over your mutual intense love for music, recommending albums to each other, as Steve politely listened on._

_Sam bid you both goodnight at closing, Steve offered to walk you home._

_“Is everything okay with Peggy?” you asked quietly as you made your way down the deserted streets. Washington was a world away from New York, the streets all but dead this time of the morning. “You’ve been quiet all night.”_

_Steve sighed, shyly taking your hand in his for comfort. “It’s progressing quickly. We managed to talk for ten minutes before she…” You squeezed his hand gently. “She deserves to die with dignity.” He said little else, lost in his own thoughts, as you made your way onto your street._

_As you made to up the stairs into your apartment building, Steve held firmly onto your hand. You turned to look at him. His cheeks were blushed and his bright blue eyes shone with embarrassment. “You don’t want to be alone?” you asked and he shook his head._

_In the privacy of your apartment, the world locked behind the door, Steve’s hand clutched your waist, his fingers, and eyes observing your face. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t have to, but you nod your head in consent and his mouth was on yours. He hungrily kissed you, the shy Brooklyn boy losing his battle with the raging lust and frustration built up inside._

_You both knew that your friendship would be forever changed, but you did not care. You had longed for his touch for months, your nightly ministrations fuelled by his naive flirtations and his sinfully perfect body._

_That night turned into many. Steve seeking you out after missions or the ridiculous PR functions SHIELD forced upon him. You would spend hours in bed fucking, making love, drawing out orgasms from each other. You explored and conquered, together._

_Things changed dramatically when the Winter Soldier marched onto the Washington streets. You lost touch with Steve as he searched for Bucky and the Accords went to hell in a basket. The occasional phone call (ala phone sex) turned into the occasional message. He called you after going to hide in the shadows following Peggy’s passing. Until finally the messages stopped completely._

_Your heart hurt but you knew that the world was on the brink of something disastrous. Whilst, Steve dared not break his vow to keep information in-house, he did warn you that things were going to turn bad._

_And boy did it. Thanos reigned on the world and before you knew it half the world had disappeared into literal thin air. Steve returned broken. Bucky and Sam were gone. His friends lost. The world was on the precipice of chaos._

_Steve locked himself away in your apartment for weeks, battling your griefs between the sheets. God, you wanted to tell him that you loved him, to make everything better, but you knew Steve was buried too deep in his grief. At that time he needed you to be there for him as his friend and bed friend._

_For years you clung to each other, finding solace in each other. And then, everything changed. The final battle, the destruction of the Avenger’s Tower. Most returned, sacrifices made._

_Steve was a changed man. He would not say, but deep down you knew that he would never be the same. You met Bucky Barnes, his best friend, and you slowly became close, though he was far more reserved than both Steve and Sam._

_And then Steve announced that he would be returning to stones. You knew it was dangerous. You knew that carrying the knowledge of the life you had created together on his conscience was a recipe for disaster. He would be distracted._

_He would go to Tony’s funeral, take the stones back and come home. So, you would wait until he returned to you._

_*****_

_The thick aroma of lemon pervades the air as you scrub the floors, the natural scent turning your parlous gut, the sound of Robert Plant wailing to the music’s climax. Bone tired, you ache for bed. You begin to wonder if he will come to you tonight, or will he not allow himself the time to grieve and instead keep watch on his friends._

_You worry about him. He’s a man out of his times. Stuck in the past when it was socially unacceptable for men to display their emotions to the world. Men had to be strong, feelings were for women. But, it was not healthy to bottle up emotions so. Especially a warrior, a soldier like Steve._

_You push your pelvis forward, cracking your lower back as you lower the mop into the bucket one final time. It had been a long night. The world was still coming to terms with its revival. Trillions of confused souls returning to a world that had grieved its loss for years. The bar was slow to pick up trade and those who dared to come in only searched to drown their sorrows._

_You enter the back alleyway to empty the bucket of its dirty water when two dark figures approach. “Bar’s closed sorry and the takings have already been removed from the premises,” you warn them._

_You hear your name as you turn your back to go back inside. “Sam?” The looks on their faces betray their message. “You’d best come in.”_

_Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes slowly follow you back into the bar. You pour them both a shot of scotch. Bucky’s face is crestfallen and troubled as he drowns the dark liquid. The silence is deafening, the lustful croon of Jimmy Paige’s guitar filling the void._

_Waiting for one of them to work up the courage to tell you is akin to taking the final walk to the guillotine. The long, drawn-out march, the ritual blessing of the wielder and final pleading for atonement, before the sharp blade finally drops._

_“He’s not coming back, is he?”_

_Sam’s hand immediately grasps yours, resting on top of the bar that has seen its fair share of heartache. “I’m so sorry. Once he’s completed his mission with the stones he’s going back to Peggy.”_

_“He’s a coward for not tell you himself,” Bucky says bitterly._

_“He deserves to be happy,” you say, pushing back the tears threatening to fall. “They both deserve to be happy. After everything they both gave up for their country.”_

_“He was happy with you.”_

_You pull your hand away from Sam and smile weakly. “What we have… had was just a beneficial arrangement.” You fight back the urge to hurl a bottle across the room, or go back in time yourself and give him a piece of your fucking mind with your fist. “We were just lonely.”_

_“You love each other.” Bucky’s eyes are furiously grey, seething with rage._

_“Buck…” God, you want to tell them the truth. They deserve to know, but you know, deep down, that if you confess you will break. You will fragment into a million pieces and will never be fixed because you know that this is not a dream. You won’t wake up tomorrow morning wrapped in Steve’s arms, safe in the knowledge that he will be by your side and you can conquer this together. Because you’re the weak fool who fell for Steve Rogers. Kind, brilliant, compassionate, strong Steve Rogers with all his stupid flaws._

_“How far along are you?” Your eyes meet his, the fury surging like a tidal wave through his taut body. “Did he know?”_

_You can feel Sam slowly digest what Bucky says and slam his fist against the bar top. “That stupid son of a bitch.”_

_“Twelve weeks. He didn’t know. I was going to tell him after.” You laugh feebly, the tears breaking through the crumbling wall. “I didn’t want him to worry while he was on the mission, you know.” A trembling lip quickly advances into a chin wobble, your vision blurring. “It doesn’t matter if I had told him or not because at the end of the day, I’m not Peggy Carter. I will never be Peggy Carter. I was just someone who fucked him when we needed an upper. Being pregnant would not have made him change his mind.” The mournful wail from Plant drifts through the bar. “He could have at least had the guts to tell me to my fucking face.”_

_Fuck Steve Rogers. He’s a coward._

*****

Bucky and Sam flanked your sides as you watch Steve play tea party with Sarah on the picnic blanket. She watches him as he speaks calmly to her toy sloth, gesticulating softly with his hands as she pours him pretend tea.

Sam bristles beside you, his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes hurling imaginary daggers at him. Bucky growls lowly as Sarah hurls herself into Steve’s arms.

“Motherfucker…”

“Language, Bucky,” you say quietly, relieved that Sarah was taking this like a champion.

He mumbles an apology. “I’m still going to beat the shit out of him later.”

“He’s not going to replace you,” you reassure him, your hand resting on his bicep, all too aware of the jealous look Steve sends your way. “Besides, you’re going to have to wait in line. Sam called shotgun.”

Sam chuckles. Neither men had been particularly impressed with Steve’s return and were all too happy to vocalise their concerns. But, Steve deserved to meet his daughter. He’s been over to the house daily since his return two weeks prior, coming once Sarah was home from school and leaving after she had gone to bed. You were both polite, an ocean of regret and angst to wade through.

It had taken you a week to work up the courage to tell Bucky and Sam that Steve had returned. You had banned them from the house until today, giving them time to calm down. Neither had said a lot to Steve, refusing his offer of a handshake as he came into the house.

Their sour moods spiraled after Steve had put Sarah to bed and they were in a child-free zone. Colourful language, threats of violence and graphic descriptions of murder were hurled at Steve. He was shaken but accepted their verbal tirade.

“Give them time,” you say quietly as you sit beside Steve on the porch swing, Sam long gone and Bucky refusing to leave the house. He’d made himself scarce to the guest bedroom after making it very clear to Steve that would not be joining you in bed that night. You had no intention of going down that road. “They will come around.”

Steve sighs and sips his beer, though the alcohol does little to affect him. “I can’t blame them for hating me. I don’t blame you.”

You smile, though sadly. “I hated you for a long time, now I’m just disappointed. Not just in you. I’m sad that you and Sarah missed out on so much of each other. I wanted to tell you before you went to return the stones but the thought of you carrying that burden with you… I thought it would cause more harm than good. Not that you should have stayed with me just because I fell pregnant. God, we weren’t really anything except two friends who slept together.”

Steve shifts in his seat and you know he is fighting the urge to pull you into his arms to comfort you. So he confesses. He tells you of seeing Peggy whilst searching out the stones. Going back to her. Marrying her. And slowly unpacking years of grief and loss. Coming to the realisation that he had been wrong. That you were his girl, that he needed you. And he apologises, over and over again.

“I need time, Steve,” you confess, allowing him to take your hand in his. “You broke me when you left. I was so scared and alone, and I’ve built an impenetrable wall to protect Sarah and I. I need you to respect that it’s going to take me a long time to trust you, again.” Steve smiles sadly and pulls his hand away. You take his hand back and slowly draw your thumb against his calloused skin. “I never stopped loving you though. Despite everything.”

“I wish I hadn’t been so blind. I’ve wasted so much time.”

“No Steve,” you say firmly, “what’s happened has happened. For Sarah, we should just put the past behind us and work on a future, together. But, whatever we are to each other, Sarah comes first.”

You feel Steve’s warm hand rest against your cheek and pull you to look at him. “I will do whatever it takes to win your trust back. I would die for both of you.”

Steve spends the night on the couch, much to Bucky’s chagrin the next morning. He must have found Steve in the kitchen the next morning because you find Sam in the kitchen, Steve flipping pancakes as the super soldier and Captain watch him venomously.

“Morning gentlemen,” you say with a grin, placing a kiss on Sarah’s head as you sit beside her at the table where she is colouring in. “Couldn’t pass up a free breakfast, Sam?”

“I got an interesting call from my buddy Bucky here. Apparently, Steve spent the night,” Sam says his eyes unmoving from his target. “Why would he be spending the night?”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Steve spent the night on the couch, dad. And you’re a snitch, Bucky.”

Steve chuckles bringing over a plate brimming with pancakes and bacon.

Despite their utter distaste, Sam and Bucky help themselves to the majority of the food. You can’t help but smile at the domesticity of having Sarah’s father sit with them for breakfast, helping her cut up her food and playfully teasing her for shoving too much food in her mouth.

And though your heart still weighs heavy from the years of rejection and loneliness, bringing up Sarah without her father, you knew that things could only get better. Steve would have to work hard to truly gain your trust and heart again, but he had been the only man you’d ever truly loved. He could be that man again in time.

Sarah would only thrive with her father in her life, alongside the two men who had fought for and helped bring her up.

A flash of silver to your right and you grab the knife that Bucky attempts to pocket. “We’re not going to stab Steve, Bucky.”


End file.
